Sam Witwicky and the Prisoner of Azkaban
by Botosphere
Summary: Be careful what you wish for... Gift!fic for RK-Striker-JK-5, who needed a good laugh. Warnings for crack-laced crack and rated T for wiggle room.  AU to the Botosphere but generally compliant with our fanon.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Our most loyal reader, RK_Striker_JK_5, needed something to make him smile. (Before any of you claim that title, no, really, he's our walking Wikipedia.) Somehow, this evolved into a group of half a dozen Mormons discussing things like the difference between "high" and "stoned," along with a group discussion of occult practices. Pink Floyd was on-topic somehow.

Also, this collaboration is Eowyn's first crossover fic. She has officially been brought over to the Dark Side by her collaborators, and it's true, they do have cookies - oatmeal-raisin, to be exact. :)

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><p><span>Prologue<span>

Diagon Alley had seen its fair share of odd happenings. In fact, a day without something worth a double-take was quite rare. However, October 30, 2009 took the proverbial cake.

It all began with a fight between siblings, as so many cataclysms do. Johnny Lord was bored, but he didn't just poke or pinch his younger sister Jen like most bored brothers. No, Johnny was a half-and-half, the son of a wizard and a bank teller. This was his second visit to Diagon Ally which meant he had the rare opportunity to use _magic _to torment his Muggle sister.

They were waiting in line at Gringotts, and the goblins were taking their own sweet time. Mrs. Lord (uncomfortable with being in both a magical place _and _a bank that wasn't her own domain) hushed them for the eighth time and added the threat that whoever made the next sound would be grounded from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Three minutes of complete silence followed, which to any disinterested person would have felt ominous. (Mrs. Lord was too self-conscious to count and was far from disinterested anyway.) Johnny didn't have a large repertoire of spells at his disposal, so two minutes was all it took to review them, and the third minute was spent figuring out how to put one of them to his nefarious purposes. _Accio _was his most recently-acquired spell (contraband learned from Theseus Thorndike, who had learned it from his fourth-year cousin) and it had the benefit of being one of the most versatile spells.

Jen had one major weakness that provided infallible results: she was terrified of bees. Just the sound of a fly buzzing was enough to provoke shudders. The _sight _of a bee made her shriek. A bee within arm's reach produced a flailing panic attack that was enough to leave an entire room full twelve-year-old boys in stitches.

Theseus always said the key to _Accio _was focus and, as much as Jen was a distraction, he could picture just the thing to petrify her. A wasp the size of her nose would be bad enough, but there were bees out there bigger than her eye and her reaction would be better than an afternoon at Fortescue's.

So, he clenched his teeth, reached for his walnut wand and hissed, "_Accio _mega-bumblebee."

The world seemed to blow up. He would have shouted out, but there was no air left in his lungs. No sooner had the words left his mouth than he found himself pinned beneath the wheel of...a car. A car in Gringotts. A _Muggle _car in Gringotts. Beyond the bumper, he could see dazed goblins scrambling away from a monster they'd probably never even heard of.

"STOP! STOP! STOP!"

A man tumbled out of the passenger-side door and grabbed onto the wing mirror, pulling on the car as if it were a badly-behaved dog.

"OFF, Bee!"

The car's tires screeched as it backed off and tried in vain to find somewhere else to park. To Johnny's astonishment, it reared back on its hind wheels and in a flourish of moving parts became what looked like a large metal man.

Jen shrieked even louder than if a real bee had just appeared out of thin air. She'd taken cover against her mum's side as soon as the glass started falling from the shattered skylight and seemed more scared of the man than the car.

The man rounded on the car thingy, ranting in an American accent, "What is _wrong_ with you, 'Bee? I _told _you to stay out of the casino!" He looked up at the broken skylight and muttered under his breath, "No way is NEST going to cover that one." He glared again at the metal monster. "I don't care what Sideswipe told you! One-arm bandits are not real, and even if they were, they aren't Decepticons!"

The car seemed to droop at its driver's rebuke.

It finally occurred to the young man to look around at the rest of the room, and for a surreal moment, he and Johnny locked eyes. Then the American was looking at Mr. Lord and the wand he was brandishing at him and his car. Another glance took in the cowering goblins and the women in witches' robes. "I'm not in Atlantic City, am I?" he finally ventured.

"No," Mr. Lord boldly declared, inching in front of his family and flicking his wrist menacingly. "You are, however, in deep, deep trouble."

"Yeah, what else is new," the American grumbled. As an aside, he asked his car, "Where _are _we, 'Bee? Tell me it's still Earth."

The car's wings moved in a motion that might have been a shrug. "Canna' tell you, cap'n...can't get a fix!"

"_Slag_."

…

Diego Garcia had seen its fair share of odd happenings. In fact, a day without something worth a double-take was quite rare. However, October 30, 2009 took the proverbial cake.

Will Lennox was in the Autobot hangar, waiting for his monthly vid conference with the JCS, which was due to start in ten minutes. It had taken some effort, but he'd finally gotten the hangar under control enough that he wouldn't be embarrassed to talk his superiors. With Will's discreet encouragement, Ratchet had followed through with his threat to mute the twins' vocal processors. In the absence of Bumblebee, Arcee had taken to tormenting Ironhide and the two had been snarking at each other since dawn. Graham had finally banished them to Boomtown and told them to not come back until they could be civil to each other.

"It's like running a primary school," Graham had muttered to Will.

Lennox would have smirked in agreement if he hadn't been the one who had to answer for his immature, ancient Autobots.

In a tone that made his hair stand on end, Optimus Prime interrupted his musings. "Major Lennox, I must speak with you immediately."

The leader of the Autobots no doubt was trying to sound reassuring, but if Optimus needed to cushion whatever he was going to say, then Lennox really didn't want to hear it. But you didn't get into NEST by being a coward, and he turned toward Optimus with grim calm. "Yes?"

"Bumblebee failed to report in at the appointed time, he's not answering hails, and we cannot detect his spark signature."

'Slag' was the first thought came into his mind, quickly followed by 'What are they up to now?' "He and Sam were in New Jersey at last report, right?"

"Affirmative."

"Any chance he's just...being a knucklehead and playing possum?"

Optimus blinked as he looked up the idioms. "Possible but unlikely. Bumblebee is an Autobot warrior."

"So are Ironhide and Arcee," Will pointed out. He sighed. "Any sign of Decepticons in the area?"

"Negative."

"Suggestions?"

Optimus hesitated and Will mentally cringed. "None at this time. I felt you ought to be made aware before your meeting with the JCS."

'Great,' Will thought. 'So now I can worry about something I can't do anything about.' "Thank you, Prime."

Two minutes before his meeting with the JCS was due to start, Johnston scrambled up the stairs to the communications scaffold. "Sir, I need to speak with you."

Will looked impatiently at his watch. "It'll have to wait."

"I'm sorry, sir, I need to speak with you _now. _It's about Bumblebee and Sam, sir."

Lennox gave him a stern look. "What about them?"

"Well, sir..." Johnston shifted his weight nervously. "They're...Unplottable at the moment. In Diagon Alley, to be specific. And remember Ratchet and the power-lines?"

"Slag," he muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

Authors' Note: The "American Wizarding Union" mentioned in the chapter is a contribution from DarthIshtar's Harry Potter fanon, specifically "Wrong Turn at Nantucket."

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><p>Will squinted at the sepia photo in Johnston's wallet. All the people in the dog-eared family photo were moving. He flipped the plastic sheet to see a more-traditional stationary picture of a couple of cute kids on the reverse side.<p>

"My sister's children," Johnston explained. "But you'll want to speak with my Grandpa Dirk."

Will ignored him and reached into the sheet pocket to pull the moving photo out, turning it over a couple of times and looking for whatever was behind this practical joke. The Autobot hangar had been cleared of everyone except Will, Johnston, and Optimus, but Lennox glanced suspiciously around the echoing room. He'd seen one too many Autobot pranks to not be wary.

"Dirk Devonshire," Johnston tried again. "My mother's father. He's..." The poor man flushed in embarrassment. "Don't you Americans have an equivalent of the Ministry of Magic?"

"Yes, they do," the man in the photo said, and Will almost dropped it. "The American Wizarding Union. And careful there, Yank. You're making me dizzy." He continued, "Problem is, the Union isn't in league with the military. You NEST chaps and the Union both don't know that the other exists, and it's taking too long to go through traditional channels. There's a man by the name of Sam Witwicky on Diagon Alley."

"Sam?" Will demanded. "If he's behind this..."

"Seems to be an innocent bystander from what I can gather. But is young Bradley right that you know this Mr. Witwicky?"

"Yes."

"Then I need you to call this number." He recited it while Will dialed.

"HULLO," the voice on the other end of the line shouted.

Wincing, Will held the receiver away from his ear and put it on speakerphone before turning it down. "This is Major William Lennox. Who am I talking to?"

("To whom," the photo of Grandpa Dirk corrected.)

"I AM BRADLEY JOHNSTON'S COUSIN, MARCUS ASTRID. IS THERE ANYONE MAGICAL ON YOUR BASE?"

Lennox gave Johnston a disbelieving look, and the machinist ducked his head a little before answering, "Marcus, it's me, Bradley, and I told you, you do _not _need to shout. The phone carries your voice just fine."

"Muggle contraption," Marcus muttered. In a slightly-quieter bellow, he said, "I NEED YOU TO COME COLLECT ONE OF YOUR ROBOTS! IMMEDIATELY."

"Sure," Will said, deciding that thinking about it too hard would make his head explode. If it was a joke, he'd give brig time to whoever was behind it (even if it _was _the human Prime). If all this hocus pocus was for real, well...he'd been chased through Qatar by a demonic rotary-propeller engine. Stranger things had happened to him than talking wallets. "Just tell us where – "

"That's the problem," Bradley said before his deafening cousin could try to explain. "Diagon Alley is Unplottable. It doesn't exist on a map. It's..." He paused obviously struggling to explain.

"It's betwixt and between," a female voice declared on the British end of the phone call. As an aside, Will could hear her say, "Thank you, Mr. Astrid. I'll take it from here." Then addressing the Diego Garcia group, she said, "I apologize about Mr. Astrid. He's only had limited interaction with the non-magical world. I'm Hermione Weasley, and I'll be your liaison now."

Will stared heavenward, cursing whatever deity had added a _liaison _to this insane day.

"Diagon Alley is a magical thoroughfare," the woman continued. "It exists within and beyond the world you know."

Optimus straightened in surprise. "They're in a subspace bubble."

"No, no. That rubbish is the stuff of science fiction. I'm talking about _magic_."

"I assure you, Ms. Weasley - "

"Missus," she interrupted.

"- Mrs. Weasley, that I use subspace technology on a daily basis. _Magic_, however..."

"..._I _use on a daily basis."

"Calm down, people," Lennox interjected. "So Sam and Bumblebee are someplace that we can't find on a GPS. How do you expect us to come get them? Or better yet, why can't you just wave a magic wand and send them here, if you're all _real _witches and wizards?"

"Well..." Hermione hedged, "Magic and electronics are a bad mix, and it appears that magic and alien electronics are even worse. Normal procedure for an accidental Muggle incursion is to remove the evidence and Obliviate the offenders."

Optimus made an unhappy noise at that comment. He wasn't entirely sure how a human was Obliviated, but he was quite certain he didn't want it done to his bond-brother.

Unaware that she'd just made it onto Optimus' 'bad' list, Hermione Weasley continued, "But we didn't get any further than trying to remove the evidence. One of the workers at Gringotts - the bank your robot and his boy landed in - tried to Apparate them into a vault, but it didn't work. In fact it..." There was the sound of rustling papers. "...according to Mr. Witwicky, and I quote, 'It made him drunk. Like, really drunk. Not just the overenergized thing like at the party on the island last week. Like _human _drunk. He's giggling uncontrollably, and it's _really _creepy so can _somebody _please come get us?'"

Will was quite tempted to facepalm, but that would have been below his already-low level of dignity for the day.

"I want to speak with Sam," Optimus blurted out.

"I'm afraid that's impossible at the moment."

"I am his brother," Optimus added, a hint of anxiety in his voice. Will knew that, if Optimus was willing to claim Sam as a brother in front of a complete stranger, then he was on the verge of a panic-attack inside. "If he has been detained..."

"Oh! No, Mr. Witwicky - I'm sorry, I didn't catch your first name. It might be helpful to know, just to keep everyone straight."

"Optimus. And you may call me by my first name."

There was a pause. "Are you _sure _you're not from a wizarding family?"

"Yes."

"Well, Optimus, your brother is refusing to leave his car's side, and since a telephone wouldn't work at all on Diagon Alley, there's really no way to speak with him."

Lennox stepped in again. "So...I'm still not sure what you want us to do. Even if we fly there, how are we non-wizards going to get onto Diagon Alley."

"A witch or wizard could escort you in," Hermione answered. "It's highly irregular, but so is an alien robot crash-landing in Gringotts, so we'll be making an exception."

"But I thought regular channels were bogged down," Will said, all too familiar with bureaucratic red tape.

"A friend of mine carries a lot of clout, and he's given us the green light. If _he _escorts you onto Diagon Alley, then no one will dare say a word."

…

"We want to come on this mission, sir," Arcee announced to Will ten minutes later. Her three components were surrounding him, with the pink one doing the actual speaking. He knew she was talking to him in her bike-bots instead of in her unified bi-pedal form just to freak him out, and he hated that it was working. One 'bot was bad enough - Arcee could gang up on him all by herself. He opened his mouth to protest, and she said, "It's in the UK. Our motorcycles will be much less conspicuous than Optimus or Ironhide. Since this 'magic' is affecting Bumblebee, you'll want a medic on hand. If he's in some back-alley, we'll have an easier time reaching and treating him than Ratchet."

"It's not a back-alley. Mrs. Hermione Weasley informed us that it's a 'magical thoroughfare.'"

"Oh, we're going to Disneyland?" Arcee snarked dismissively. "Why didn't you say so? We'll just bring the pink component - she'll blend right in."

Lennox sighed, exasperated. "It's negatively affecting 'Bee - I don't want a dozen drunk Autobots on my hands."

"You'll want Jolt along, at least," Pink-Arcee retorted. "His build is designed to handle and manipulate most forms of energy."

Will hadn't thought about that.

"And, as we said, you'll want a medic. Any 'bot else will probably be too many, but Jolt and we should come along."

"Okay, fine. You and Jolt _and no one else_. You get to be the one to deliver that news to Optimus."

"Agreed," she answered, leaping into her unified form. "I'll go talk to him now."

Lennox wasn't sure if the lingering ominous feeling was because of Arcee's intimidation tactics or because he'd actually given her her way against his better instincts. Either way, though, this mission was doomed before it began and he decided that 'roll with it' would be his motto for the next 48 hours.

…

Once they were airborne, Will didn't mince words. Fixing Johnston with a commanding glare, he said, "Explain."

The machinist took a deep breath, mentally bracing himself. "What I'm about to tell you is covered by a law of theirs known as the Statute of Secrecy. Essentially, it's so classified you will not be allowed to remember it."

"What exactly do you mean by 'not allowed?'"

Johnston shifted nervously. "There's a spell...consider it a very effective brain bleach. That's what Mrs. Weasley meant when she said Muggles would be Obliviated. 'Obliviate' is the spell. It removes a specific set of memories, and as far as any human will remember, we found Mr. Witwicky and Bumblebee somewhere in London."

"And Muggles are...us?" Lennox asked.

"Yes. Non-magical folk."

"What about us Autobots?" Jolt demanded. "Will they try to Obliviate us, too?"

"I doubt it, sir," Johnston answered him. "It seems that spells don't work quite right on you."

"How do you know about all this?" Lennox blurted out.

"I'm not a squib, if that's what you mean, sir," his fellow human said a little stiffly.

"Squib?"

"I suppose I'd better start at the beginning," Johnston said, deflating a little. He seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment. "For centuries, the human world has been divided between magical and Muggle, with the Muggle world remaining largely oblivious of the magical. There are wizarding families that have produced generations of powerful witches and wizards, and every now and then, a person with magical abilities is born of Muggle parents. Mrs. Weasley is one of those. And then there are people who are half-and-half, the children of one magical and one Muggle parent. I come from a long line of these cross-cultural families. They tend to band together, the Muggle-born and the halves, especially the last several generations. Like the Muggle world, the magical world had its own castes and wars, and there is at least a little safety in numbers."

Arcee was fascinated. "So you're...?"

"My mother's father and my father's sister were both magical - a wizard and witch respectively, of course. I've known about the magical world since my childhood, but I've never personally seen any magic."

"You said they've had wars," Will stated, though it was more of a question.

Johnston nodded again. "The most recent one ended a little over a decade ago. The hero who won that war is the wizard who will be escorting us into Diagon Alley. Harry Potter is his name, sir. The Boy Who Lived."

Will snorted. "Sounds like Sam."

Johnston looked a little insulted. "Hardly, sir. The magical world feels about Harry Potter much the same way that NEST feels about Optimus. I tend to take some of the stories about Mr. Potter with a grain of salt, sir, but it would be prudent to be respectful all the same."

Lennox nodded, understanding. He wanted this briefing so he had at least a basic grasp of what he was getting into. The last thing he wanted to do was offend the natives on accident.

"But what is a 'squib?'" Arcee demanded.

"Just like every now and then a Muggle family has a witch or wizard, every now and then a wizarding family has a non-magical child, and that's a squib, ma'am. It's actually a bit of a scandal to have one in the family."

"What happened in this war?" Will asked. "What was it about?"

It took Johnston the rest of the flight to answer that question, and when their plane finally touched down in England, Lennox felt like he'd just discovered _another _alien world.


End file.
